Sang Noir
by Aithne Morrigan
Summary: Sirius is sick of his family. James wants him to do something about it. And all the while, invisible in the background, Regulus is slowly losing himself. /No longer a three-shot. My take on the Black brothers, starting with the night Sirius ran away. Warning: abuse in the first chapter. Rated T for a reason. /Previously titled Black Blood.
1. Trahison (Sirius)

**Bonjour! This is my first time writing for Harry Potter, and also my first time publishing a multi-chapter story. It started as just me trying to explore Regulus a little bit, but then it...escalated. A lot. Seriously, it was only meant to be a few thousand words at most, and, well, I have the whole thing in one document on my computer, and it's now 23 pages long.**

 **So...I had to rewrite the first chapter at least three times as I got a better understanding of Regulus' character, and it was a lot of work, so I hope you like it.**

 **Disclaimer: I don't own anything you recognize, all belongs to JK Rowling.**

* * *

 _"_ _Betrayal from the family is the ultimate wound."_ ~Anne-Marie Wiesman

* * *

The rain swept down in fine sheets; a thin, misty drizzle. It was not yet a full rain, just enough to wet the pavement. For now, the sun still shone through the clouds. But the clouds were gradually, imperceptibly darkening; inevitably they would clamp down on the rooftops of London. Soon the sun would be obscured behind daunting dark clouds, and the rain would pound the rooftops in relentless, unwavering strikes.

But for now, the residents of Grimmauld Place savored the last bits of sunlight, the literal calm before the storm. For there was no doubt in anyone's mind that there would be a storm. Most of the street's residents were sitting in their living rooms, peacefully sipping tea or peacefully reading the newspaper.

But there was one house, invisible to the rest, inside which the circumstances were anything but peaceful.

* * *

" _Crucio!_ "

Sirius couldn't even remember what he'd done to antagonize his mother this time. And quite honestly, he didn't care. All he cared about right now was keeping quiet.

While he was pretty good at this skill, the Cruciatus Curse tended to break down his defenses very quickly. His flesh was burning, his bones were melting, his lungs were tightening, constricting his breath…it never got any better, despite the unfortunate regularity.

His mind was blank—he was incapable of wanting anything except death, the end, _release_ …it was agony in its purest, freshest, most undiluted form. He hardly heard his own scream as the ringing in his ears drowned it out…

* * *

Upstairs, a fourteen-year-old boy flinched involuntarily, then mentally kicked himself. Regulus Black had been attempting to work on a Charms essay, but now he put it aside, accepting that he wasn't going to get anything done.

His most primal instincts screamed at him to run downstairs and help his older brother, but he resisted. Sirius liked to fight his own battles, and besides, there was nothing he could do. Favored though the younger boy might be, his parents were remarkably stubborn, and they would never let anything stand between them and their eldest son.

Quickly, Regulus chastised himself. He didn't care one jot about Sirius, right? Right? No, he didn't. He was a true Black. He couldn't afford to be sorry for blood traitors.

Still…every time this happened, Regulus felt an odd painful pull in his chest.

It wasn't like the brothers were close. They'd been drifting apart for a long time. Sirius was a Gryffindor, a rebel, on the path to becoming a blood traitor. Regulus, on the other hand, was a Slytherin, and a perfect one.

Right?

Even at a young age, Regulus had always been clever. Hiding behind a mask came easily to him. He had a talent for charming the people that mattered. He could easily alter his posture, composure, speech patterns…it never failed to charm people, manipulate them. Often, Regulus didn't even do it consciously, and consequently he felt like he didn't even know himself.

That was depressing, Regulus thought. He didn't even know who he was. Of course, lots of people thought they knew him, but in reality they only knew his mask. His mask…it was a mask of the perfect pureblood Slytherin son. He'd been wearing it for so long, it had become a part of him.

The problem was that now, he couldn't tell what was mask and what was skin.

When he was just a toddler, he had idolized Sirius and wanted to be just like him. Then, he began to realize that his parents didn't love Sirius very much. And Regulus wanted his parents to love him, so he reasoned, _if I do the opposite of what Sirius does, they'll love me_.

And it had worked. As he matured a bit, he learned how to act in order to make his parents love him. He'd gotten used to it over time…very, _very_ used to it.

Then the two brothers began to drift apart. Regulus had accepted this, and accepted that his older brother could never wear a mask like him, it just wasn't in Sirius' nature.

Sirius had gone to Hogwarts and been sorted into Gryffindor.

When it was Regulus' turn to go to Hogwarts, he'd persuaded the Hat to put him in Slytherin.

He'd made friends with the right people in Slytherin, done all the things he needed to in order to gain power. All the while, he'd watched his brother grow to hate him, and he'd had the crazy urge to take his mask off. But he was a Slytherin, not a Gryffindor. He wasn't brave enough to do it.

Now his brother hated him. And for good reason, too. Regulus was a pitiful coward, too afraid even to figure out what was the right thing to do.

He knew he'd have to keep this mask up for the rest of his life, so he'd become the person that he was seen as.

More or less. He'd started to think like _them._ What was the point of fighting it? He was a Black by blood. He knew that Sirius knew it was too late for him to be brave now. Even at fourteen years old, he was too far in, even if he knew what he truly wanted. He couldn't take his mask off now. He didn't even know what was underneath it anymore, and something told him that the line between mask and skin was blurring rapidly.

He was a coward, and that was all he knew for sure about himself. He didn't know what he wanted or what he believed in. All he knew for certain was that he was a coward.

Regulus still admired his brother, try as he might to deny it. Sirius was strong, brave…incredibly brave, to the point of being stupid. The boy knew full well that defying their parents would only result in punishment, yet he still did it. Regulus had never understood why and probably never would; but he'd always wished he could have that same courage. However, he knew that would always be just a child's impossible dream. Regulus Black was no lionhearted Gryffindor, and never would be. So he pushed down his lingering admiration for his older brother, and tried to despise him.

And he knew that the act was convincing, that Sirius believed it and despised him in return. He'd seen it in the way the older boy looked at him—that cold glint in his eyes, eerily like their mother when she spoke to her eldest son, though Sirius would deny that vehemently if mentioned.

Regulus tried very hard to convince himself he didn't care. He tried to convince himself that what their parents said was true, that Sirius was a hopeless blood traitor, a stain on the noble House of Black. And he almost succeeded. Almost.

But every time his brother gave him that cold look, turning his back on him and not looking back, Regulus felt something inside of him break a little more.

It would take him years to realize that something was his heart.

* * *

After Walburga left, Sirius lay there for several minutes. He was panting, curled in the fetal position, eyes screwed shut. His heart thudded painfully against his ribs.

This wasn't an uncommon occurrence in the Black household. Sirius' family cared nothing for him. Period. Fin. End of story.

Exhausted, he slowly and painfully dragged himself to his feet and up the stairs. He'd only get more punishment if he stayed in the drawing room.

Suddenly he remembered how he had antagonized them this time—by calling the entire Black family 'a pack of racist inbred insects.' Which was true. He had almost said 'inbred rats' but had caught himself just in time. Rats were quite nice, and calling the Black family 'rats' would be an unforgivable offense to Wormtail.

When he reached the landing, he stumbled to his door, closed it behind him, and leaned on the wall, sliding down to the floor.

 _How_ dare _I think for myself,_ the older Black thought sardonically, his fear and pain rapidly turning to anger. _How_ dare _I make my own choices._

He'd been dealing with this for long enough. His family had made it very clear that they didn't love him, didn't care about him. No, he corrected, they were not his family, not anymore. There was nothing for it. He stood up.

His trunk lay open on the other side of the room, bare, ready to receive his possessions. He began gathering up his school books.

There was no stopping Sirius now; frankly, he knew he should have run away a long time ago. It felt good, this sort of rebellious finality. It was obvious to anyone that his family didn't want him there, that they would _love_ for him to leave. Even if they hadn't directly tried to kick him out, it was obvious what they were thinking. They hated him.

Why _hadn't_ he run away before? As soon as the thought struck him, he knew the answer. Regulus. His brother was like a rope, tying him down to Grimmauld Place, keeping him from leaving. What Sirius wanted more than anything, was to make his brother understand, to protect the younger boy from the blackness of his family.

That was why he had always stayed, pushed the thought of running away to the back of his mind…he couldn't betray his brother's trust. By leaving, he would be abandoning any hope of convincing Regulus not to go over to the Dark. And he _had_ to convince him. That was his responsibility as an older brother.

This time, however, he was sure that he had to leave. Maybe it was selfish, but he was inexplicably convinced this time.

What had changed in his thinking, he wondered? Why was he suddenly so certain about leaving? He knew that he hadn't stopped caring for Regulus— far from it! In fact, it felt like his heart was ripping in two; he longed to leave, to get out of this wretched place, but at the same time he didn't want to leave Regulus alone. To leave would be to throw away any influence, any connection, that he still had with his brother; to throw away any hope of making him understand.

Maybe that was it… maybe it wasn't a choice that Sirius could make for his brother. Maybe he just had to trust Regulus to do the right thing, make the right choice, in the end.

* * *

Down the hall, Regulus was deep in thought. So Sirius was leaving.

When he had heard through the walls the sound of Sirius packing his trunk, he hadn't been at all surprised. It had been a long time coming, really. The elder Black was despised by their parents, subjected to the Cruciatus fairly often. He was a rebel, he just didn't fit in. His personality clashed horribly with the family. It simply didn't work.

Even though he wasn't surprised, he was a bit conflicted about it. Sirius was a Black too, after all…maybe he could convince him to give it a chance…no. He shook his head to clear it. He couldn't afford to think that way. Sirius had made his choice a long time ago, the moment that the Sorting Hat had put him in Gryffindor.

He knew exactly what he _should_ do—go and tell their parents that Sirius was planning to leave. They would put a stop to it. He should…he really should…but he couldn't.

Officially, Regulus would hate Sirius now. Upon leaving, the elder boy would be immediately disowned. Sirius would officially be a blood traitor, to be scorned and despised by members of the Noble and Most Ancient House of Black. And that elite group included Regulus. Officially, he would hate his no-longer-brother.

But unofficially? Regulus wasn't sure he could. Sirius was his _brother_ , after all. He was in awe of the Gryffindor's pure courage. He did think that leaving was a terrible mistake on his brother's part, but he also thought that it was incredibly brave. He could never do it. Even if he wanted to.

And if he was honest with himself, he didn't think that the Dark Lord was going to win this war. Looking at history, the more tolerant people tended to win out; take the American Revolution! But he didn't know what he really _wanted_ to happen. He should be rooting for the Dark Lord, and he tried to, he really did. Still, there was a tiny part of him that wasn't sure.

But part of being a Slytherin was self-control. He always pushed that little voice down, not listening to it. But he couldn't make it go away.

 _No matter what I do, I'll be betraying either my parents or Sirius…what if I have to choose between them?_ Regulus quickly cut off that train of thought. He didn't want to think about that scenario. He knew he wouldn't be brave enough to choose. He wasn't brave enough to turn away from his brother, and he wasn't brave enough to go with him.

Regulus stood up and strode quickly towards his door. His hand was on the doorknob when, abruptly, he changed his mind. He had been going to wish Sirius good luck, but the boy didn't deserve it. Sirius was betraying him, betraying the family, by leaving, after all. He turned and walked slowly back to his desk.

* * *

Sirius closed his trunk. He wished that he could take his posters and Gryffindor paraphernalia with him, but he'd attached them all to the walls with Permanent Sticking Charms, so there was no chance of that. At least Walburga wouldn't be able to remove them. He stifled a snort at the thought of her doomed attempts.

He cast a Shrinking Spell on his trunk and stuck it in his pocket. Then, taking one last look at his old room, he left.

As he passed the door marked _Regulus Arcturus Black_ , he knelt down and slipped a piece of parchment, a carefully written note, under his brother's door.

Straightening up, he took a deep breath and strode confidently down the stairs into the kitchen, where Orion and Walburga Black were sitting at the table sipping tea. They ignored Sirius as he walked straight past them, to the front door, where he turned around.

"I'm leaving," he said simply.

Walburga turned around so fast that Sirius was surprised she didn't break her neck. She hissed in shock. "You—you _dare_? After all we've done for you?"

Orion held up a hand to stop her. He looked angry, but—unlike his wife—not particularly surprised. Turning to his eldest son, he stated coldly "If you leave now, you never come back. You won't come running back here when you realize how much you need us. Once you step out that door, we blast you off the tapestry." His voice was quiet. "Is that clear."

Sirius nodded. "Perfectly. I'm done living in this hellhole that you call a home. I'm done with listening to you spout all the pureblood rubbish that you call _fact,_ I'm sick of your stupid intolerance and you trying to make me someone I'm not, trying to make me _believe_ all your bullshit! Well guess what? I hate you!"

He would have continued; he could have gone on for hours, but the statement _I hate you_ seemed to be the last straw for Walburga. Drawing her wand, she screeched "Crucio!"

Caught off guard, Sirius screamed. His vision went white. He may have experienced it many times before, but the pain never got any better. In that moment, he wanted to die, wanted to end it all if only to make it stop…

Finally, Walburga stopped, breathing hard. "Leave. You're no longer a Black, _blood-traitor._ "

Sirius groaned. "Good—S'what I want…dunno how you didn't know that." And with that, he opened the door and stumbled out into the night.

He slammed the door behind him.

As he shifted into his Animagus form and hobbled unsteadily down the streets of London, the daunting dark clouds, which had now darkened to black and settled low over the city like a vise, broke open. Lightning illuminated the silhouettes of houses and thunder rattled Padfoot's teeth. Rain poured down in sheets, soaking him to the bone. He knew he had to keep moving, or he'd freeze to death.

Where he was going, he didn't know, and he didn't care.

* * *

Upstairs back at Number Twelve Grimmauld Place, Regulus let out a breath he hadn't realized he'd been holding. The sound of the door slamming behind his big brother had fractured something inside him.

He knew that he was supposed to be glad that it was broken, that he _should_ be glad, but it hurt nonetheless. The sensation of rational thought and self-preservation battling against primal instinct was, unfortunately, quite familiar to Regulus.

Sirius was now gone forever. There was no mistaking that fact.

The rain poured down, drumming angrily on his window. Thunder shook the sky.

Sirius, his older brother…Sirius, the blood-traitor…gone. He'd still see him at Hogwarts, of course, but Regulus knew that he, the proper Black, wouldn't speak to him, especially now that the elder boy was disowned. _Why am I even worrying about this? I'm a proper Black_.

Regulus had seen his brother slip a parchment under his door, but hadn't wanted to go and look at it. Now, knowing that there was no point putting it off, he strode over to the door where the slip of parchment laid on the floor.

The writing was messy and hurried, and the ink was still slightly damp. Regulus took a deep, shaky breath and began reading.

 _I'm sorry. I know that you don't understand. But I hate this place, and the feeling is mutual. I've only stuck around this long because as crazy as this sounds, I love you, and I don't want to see you go over to the Dark._

 _I won't blame you if you hate me for leaving. I know I'm betraying you. And just so you know, if you join our eldest cousin in her gang, we will be officially enemies._

 _I've done what I can to make you understand. Now I'm trusting you to make the right choices._

 _(I know, I know what you're thinking, you can make your own choices, you don't need me to protect you. I swear I can feel you glaring at me right now. Spare me. It's just an older brother instinct.)_

 _Sirius_

Heaving a sigh, he pulled out his wand and burnt the note. There was nothing he could learn from it, and it wouldn't do for it to be found. He wanted to be angry or disappointed in Sirius for leaving—or both—but he couldn't quite bring himself to be…

No. By leaving, Sirius had betrayed the family. It was better that he was gone; there was clearly no place for him in proper pureblood society. Right?

Regulus leaned against the wall, bowing his head. Outside, the storm raged in tandem with his inner conflict. _Who am I? I am Regulus Arcturus Black—but what does that mean? Who am I really, without all the pretense?_

Maybe the problem was that the pretense, the lying, the acting, had become a part of who he was. But there was one fact that refused to be denied.

 _I don't know who I am anymore._

* * *

Sirius didn't know how long he walked for. All he knew was that he had to keep moving.

But sometime early in the morning, he couldn't take it anymore; the storm overcame him. He collapsed on the side of the road. His mind was muddled, his vision blurring out.

 _I wonder what happens if an Animagus dies in animal form,_ he thought detachedly.

Then he slipped into nothingness.

* * *

 **Well...? What do you think? I'll upload the next chapter tomorrow, and the last chapter on Sunday. But Siriusly, _review._ Tell me what you think. I'd really like to improve my writing. I have this feeling that in a year or so, I'm going to reread this story and be like "Holy Guacamole, this is truly awful" and do a complete rewrite. **

**But really. _REVIEW._ Tell me what you like and don't like. I want constructive criticism. Please?**

 **The next chapter will be up tomorrow, with a guest star- the one and only...James Potter!**


	2. Tout Sauf Sang (James)

**Hi again. Here is the next installment of Black Blood. This chapter features James Potter, and also a slightly different kind of brother bond than last chapter.**

 **Un merci beaucoup to Diih Black, ****jkwhedon1919 , MarauderBeMe, and ****lilleil for favoriting/following, and to ****SB- Potterhead Budgie Lover** **and Guest for reviewing!**

 **Enjoy!**

* * *

 _"_ _Walking with a friend in the dark is better than walking alone in the light." ~_ Helen Keller

* * *

James Potter yawned as he stepped out of his family's house to get the mail. He ran a hand over his hair in a useless attempt to tame it, more out of habit than necessity. There was no way he'd ever be able to tame his hair, so he normally didn't even try.

The lawn was soaking wet from last night's storm. And quite some storm it had been, too. James had lay awake for hours, listening to the rain pounding the rooftop and the wind rattling his bedroom window. He had wished he was allowed to do magic outside of school, so that he could cast a silencing charm. It would have been a welcome relief from the constant noise.

James resigned himself to the fact that he would have to cross the soaking wet, and probably very cold, lawn. He quickly tiptoed out to the mailbox and looked inside, touching the grass for as little time as possible, only to find that there was no mail. _That was a wasted effort,_ he thought. He was about to turn around to go back inside, when something caught his eye.

The sun wasn't fully up and James' eyes were still blurry from sleep, so he couldn't see it very well. But on the other side of the road, curled up on the curb, there was a…a large dark shape that definitely hadn't been there last night.

The Marauder only hesitated for a moment before slipping out his wand—just in case—and trudging across the street to have a look. As he got closer, it looked like a large animal of some sort, but he couldn't tell whether or not it was alive.

James tried to rub the sleep out of his eyes as he looked down at the animal. His eyes widened. He realized it was a large black dog that looked strangely familiar, but his sleepy mind couldn't quite place it.

He knelt down to see if it was still alive. It was, but the pulse was just barely there. Its skin was freezing cold and it was soaked thoroughly, as if it had been laying there all night. Maybe it had. James was debating what he should do when the dog opened its eyes a sliver. Pale gray eyes…

Padfoot.

James gasped and stumbled back in shock, all traces of sleepiness gone. He felt like slapping himself. He should have recognized the dog instantly. He didn't have the faintest idea what Sirius Black was doing crumpled on the side of the road across the street from his house, but at the moment he didn't particularly care.

After he got over his initial shock, he realized that it probably wasn't good for anyone to sleep on a freezing cold night on the side of the road in the pouring rain. He wondered how Sirius had gotten here…but that didn't matter right now.

He flicked his wand, levitating the dog into the air. International Statute of Secrecy be damned, he doubted many people were up at this hour anyway. Jogging back across the street with Padfoot in tow, he flung open the door and ran into the living room.

James was no expert on healing, but it was obvious to anyone that Sirius needed to warm up. He set the dog down by the fireplace, snatched up all the blankets in sight, and pulled them over the dog. He then proceeded to try and get the fire going with shaking hands.

Sirius hadn't moved an inch while he was doing this. James wasn't sure if he was conscious or not.

James may have been a Gryffindor, but he was terrified. He didn't know what he'd do with himself if Sirius died. And considering the dog was already practically half-dead…no, he had to think positive. Sirius was strong, he wouldn't die easily.

But looking at the limp form of the dog huddled pitifully under a pile of blankets, James had a hard time convincing himself of that.

* * *

When Sirius came to several hours later, at first he was confused. Why was he in his Animagus form, and where was he?

Then it all came rushing back— getting hit by the Cruciatus curse in the drawing room, packing his trunk, Walburga cursing him and threatening to disown him, slamming the door of Grimmauld Place, the hours of agonizing walking, collapsing on the side of the road…

But he was clearly no longer on the side of the road. He hadn't yet opened his eyes, but he was lying underneath something soft and warm, and the cold had abated…sort of, not really.

He opened his eyes. He was not in his room—not that he'd expected to be— but on somebody's living room floor, next to a merrily crackling fireplace. He had to blink rapidly to clear his vision, for the fireplace was very bright. The thing he was lying under turned out to be, in fact, a pile of blankets.

Gradually he became aware of something heavy pressing on his right side…something warm, and breathing. He didn't particularly feel like moving his head to look, so he breathed in, sniffing the air.

And he recognized the scent. Oh, he knew it well. After all, it belonged to one James Potter.

Sirius was no less confused by this— how had he gotten from the side of the road to the Potter home? It didn't matter, he decided. At least he was no longer on the side of the road.

He managed a weak whine, not sure if it was safe to transform—he was an _illegal_ Animagus, after all, and Azkaban didn't sound like a great place. He doubted he had the energy anyway.

James had been huddled next to Padfoot on the carpet, but upon realizing he was awake, he sat up, moving around so the dog could look at him. "Sirius! You're awake! Sirius, what…" He sighed. "Uh—my parents are away and won't be back for two days, so…" He trailed off awkwardly.

Sirius nodded slightly, then continued to stare at the fire.

They stayed like that for a long time. Sirius felt the horrible cold slowly, surely, leave his bones. James was something of a cuddle-bug, he mused, even if the boy would never admit it.

A while later—it felt like only a few moments, but it was probably hours—Sirius mustered up all his remaining energy and transformed back to human.

Instantly, James leaned closer, wrapping his arms around his fellow Gryffindor. The Marauders were often stared at because of the rather intimate note their friendship took, but they had never cared. People could whisper all they wanted, as far as the four friends were concerned.

"You feeling alright?" As soon as the words were out, James regretted them. "Er, sorry, dumb question."

Sirius smiled weakly. "You…you saved my life," he whispered. "Thank you."

James understood that Sirius wasn't just thanking him for bringing him in earlier that morning. There were a lot of unsaid things conveyed in that _thank you. Thank you for being there. Thank you for being a good friend._

The bespectacled boy smiled back. "Anytime, mate. What are friends for?"

It was said with humor, but Sirius knew that there were some unsaid things in that as well.

James chuckled nervously. "Er—if you don't mind me asking—what the _hell_ happened, Pads?"

Sirius' smirk died. He sighed. "Well, it's a bit of a long story…"

James cut him off with a sigh. "You know what, tell me later. You're not in any condition to be talking right now."

"Yes, mother _."_

"Oh, you want _mother?_ I'll give you _mother…_ " They both grinned, Sirius albeit painfully.

"You should rest." All the humor was gone from James' voice now. Sirius sighed. When James used that voice, it meant he was serious. He rested his head on the ground, closing his eyes.

"Prongs?"

"Yeah?"

"…How did I get here?"

"Er—well—I went out to get the mail this morning and saw a black lump on the other side of the road. Upon closer inspection, I realized that it was you, and I wasn't going to leave my best mate stranded on the curb, was I? So I brought you in here and tried to warm you up."

James placed his arm around Sirius' shoulders. "You were like an ice cube, Pads. It really scared me, I'll admit. I'm just glad you're alright now."

When the two boys awoke half an hour later, it was to find James sleeping, quite literally on top of Sirius, whose arms were tangled around the Potter heir's body. _Lucky no one's around to see this,_ James thought drily.

Once they disentangled themselves and James wrangled Sirius into a sitting position on the couch, he wasted no time. "Spill."

* * *

"…And then I woke up to find myself in your living room, decidedly _not_ the side of the road. I suppose it's just a very lucky coincidence that I happened to collapse right across the street from your house."

James blinked. "Wait, you didn't come here on purpose?"

Sirius snorted. "You kidding? It was the middle of the night and I was practically half-dead…Couldn't think straight to save my life." He looked down in shame.

James stared. "Padfoot…" Hesitantly, he reached out and pulled his friend into an embrace. Sirius stiffened instinctively at the touch.

"Relax, mate. It's just me," James said quietly. He didn't quite know what to do in this situation, but for the sake of his friend, he'd do his best.

Over the years, Sirius had trained himself not to show his true emotions. Around his family, that would only get him punished. Though he'd learned to let loose a bit around the Marauders, he'd never really showed them his true weakness. So he was a bit reluctant to relax, even around James, his best friend. Instinct, he supposed.

But gradually he relaxed into the embrace, leaning into James. The boy was surprisingly warm, like a heat lamp. He blinked rapidly, trying to hold back his tears. _Look at yourself!_ he thought viciously. _Blacks don't cry!_ For that was what he'd always been told.

However, as soon as he had that thought, another memory surfaced, this one more recent. _You're no longer a Black, blood-traitor._

Almost as if he had been reading his mind, James pulled away to look Sirius in the eye. "It's okay to cry, you know," he said. "You've had a rough time of it, and no one can be strong and wear a mask all the time."

Sirius started. He'd never thought of himself as wearing a mask…but perhaps it was true.

Well, he supposed if he was no longer a Black, then the rules of the Blacks no longer applied to him, did they?

 _I'm really no good at this,_ James thought as Sirius shook with fresh tears. He rubbed his friend's back awkwardly in an attempt to cheer him up, but really he wasn't that great with emotions.

However, he wasn't as oblivious as people tended to believe. He'd seen that Sirius tended to hide his feelings, and he was smart enough to know that that would only make the boy unhappy. It had been pretty obvious that Sirius needed to just let it out, and James had done his best—and apparently succeeded—but he felt pretty un-confident at the moment.

Still, it wasn't like anyone could see them, could they?

A little while later, James realized that Sirius had fallen asleep. Tucking a blanket around the dog Animagus, he went to the kitchen and brewed some tea.

Most people wouldn't dare drink tea that James made, but he thought it tasted fine. Everyone except Sirius always said that James' tea was chokingly strong and unbearably hot, which James simply did not get. In his opinion, everyone else's tea tasted like lukewarm water. Most people refused to drink it—not that he made tea often, when they had company his parents refused to let him make it.

Peter and Remus would drink it, but only out of politeness. Sirius, on the other hand, shared James' taste in tea. The two often indulged in loud complaining in the Gryffindor common room about other people's 'lukewarm water' with Sirius moaning about how it was 'shoved down his throat' at family gatherings, while Peter ate illegal popcorn and Remus rolled his eyes at them from behind his book. Ah, the good old days.

Through this activity, tea had become a bit of an inside joke between the two boys, which was part of the reason James was making tea.

The other part was that he needed to do something familiar, to calm himself. He'd been shocked upon hearing Sirius' tale of woe. He'd always known that his best friend had a rubbish family life, but the Cruciatus Curse on a regular basis…this was worse than anything he'd ever imagined.

All of a sudden, he realized that Sirius hadn't mentioned where he was planning to go. Knowing him, he probably hadn't thought about it one bit. Sirius didn't tend to think before he acted. Which was yet another reason why he belonged in Gryffindor.

Well, James wasn't about to let his best mate sleep on the streets, and he knew his parents wouldn't mind at all, so Sirius would stay here, with the Potters. It was settled. Of course, Sirius would protest, saying that he couldn't ask that of them, but that was to be expected from a Gryffindor. And Sirius _was_ a Gryffindor, through and through.

Abruptly, he realized that the tea was done. Putting it on a platter, he brought the tea into the living room. Sirius was still sleeping peacefully, so James placed it on the coffee table and cast a spell on the teapot to keep it hot. Knowing Sirius, he'd be asleep for a while. The bespectacled boy then got out a fresh roll of parchment and began writing his Transfiguration essay, satisfied that his friend was safe.

* * *

When Sirius woke up two hours later, it took him a couple seconds to remember the events of the morning. When he did, he felt like a great weight had been lifted off his shoulders. _James Potter should really get more credit,_ he mused.

He sat up groggily. James turned around in his chair on the other side of the room, and Sirius saw that he'd been working on an essay. "How're you feeling?" James asked.

"Alright," Sirius responded.

James smiled, getting up and coming over to the couch. "I made tea," he nodded towards the platter that was sitting on the coffee table.

Sirius smirked. "You know, if anyone else said that to me, I'd be worried about drinking their lukewarm water."

"Why, I'm glad to know you like my tea so much."

"Why, you're welcome. Cheers." Both boys poured themselves a cup. Sirius frowned suddenly. "What should we drink to?"

James locked eyes with him, meeting his gaze steadily. "Padfoot."

"Um, yes?"

"You're going to stay here, live with me. No, don't argue—" for Sirius had opened his mouth to do just that— "my mum and dad won't mind, and I certainly don't. That is my final decision, and you're not going to make me change my mind."

Sirius was about to argue more, but the look in James' eyes convinced him that it wasn't worth it.

"Well," he mock grumbled, a smirk rapidly spreading across his face despite his best efforts, "I suppose I could tolerate it."

James snorted. "Knew you'd come 'round." He raised his teacup. "To brothers?" he asked.

Sirius instinctively thought about Regulus…and then, he realized that maybe there was room in his heart for more than one brother. After all, Regulus was only his blood brother, and he knew better than most that blood wasn't that important. He raised his cup to James'.

"Brothers," he said firmly. "In all but blood."

"In all but blood," James repeated. "I'll drink to that."

 _Clink._

They drank. In that moment, Sirius knew that there was no place on Earth that he'd rather be in that moment. It didn't matter that there was a war raging around them, that they could be killed at any moment. He had friends—no, he corrected himself, a _family_ —and that was all that mattered.

* * *

Back in an ancient house on Grimmauld Place, Regulus Black stared at the charred, smoking hole in the family tapestry where Sirius' name and picture used to be. Now all that looked back at him were smoking, blackened threads.

Regulus knew he should be happy that Sirius was gone, and move on with his life. And that's what he would do. Blood-traitors had no place at the side of a proper Black.

Right?

* * *

 **Again, please review! If you have any thoughts, _tell me!_ I want to know. Also, let me know if there's any random comments that don't make sense- I edited this chapter quite a bit and it's possible that I forgot to delete some relics of older versions. So please let me know if you find anything like that.**

 **Also...what do you think of the quotes?**

 **The last chapter will be up tomorrow, or today if I get impatient.**

 ** _REVIEW!_**

 **Aithne**


	3. Derniers Mots (Regulus)

**J'ai retourné! I would just like to say that I didn't get any reviews last chapter, and I'm really not trying to be a review snob, but I really want to know how I can improve. So please, review.**

 **Merci beaucoup to Bluehamster9 for favoriting and following!**

 **In this chapter, we return to Regulus. I know this event has been written over and over by many different people, but I wrote it anyway. It's funny, this was by far the easiest chapter to write. It just kind of...flowed. Let me know if it's any good.**

 **Enjoy!**

* * *

" _The tragedy of life is not death, but what we let die inside of us while we live." —_ Norman Cousins

* * *

It was raining. Not a storm this time, but a slow, interminable downpour. It was not violent, not brutal, nor even all that powerful. Rather, it dropped heavily down from the sky in the manner of a slow, creeping river, moving steadily onward, carrying a boat and its occupant closer and closer to a huge waterfall, that surely meant certain doom for the boat's occupant…

* * *

 ** _To the Dark Lord,_**

That was good, Regulus thought. Direct, to the point, but not too blatant. Now, how to continue?

What was the point of writing this anyway? The Dark Lord was quite arrogant; he'd most likely never return to that cave to check up on his Horcrux. He would never consider that someone might be able to break his defenses. And so he'd most likely never read the note. Also, by the time he did, if all went to plan, the author would be long dead.

Regulus' hand trembled, and he almost spilled his ink. He was terrified of his plan; more terrified than he'd ever been in his life. He knew it had to be done, but that didn't make it any easier. He had to sound confident in the note, though.

 ** _I know I will be dead long before you read this, but_**

 _But_ …He sighed quietly in exasperation. But—what? Why was he even writing this? A final act of defiance, something akin to spitting in the Dark Lord's face? No, that wasn't quite it. Maybe it was just because leaving a note before dying in a planned manner was kind of a thing.

Maybe, even though there was only _maybe_ a one in a billion chance that Sirius would read the note, he wanted his brother to know that he'd finally come around. That he'd finally understood what Sirius had tried to tell him _._ That he hadn't died loyal to the Dark Lord. Said Dark Lord didn't deserve _anyone's_ respect.

Or maybe he just wanted recognition—no one would ever suspect that young, soft-spoken Regulus Black could possibly be the one to discover the Dark Lord's secret.

Or maybe it was for all of those reasons.

 ** _I want you to know that it was I who discovered_** ** _your secret._**

Yes, that sounded good. It was almost laughable how calm he sounded in this letter. Someone reading it could think he had been perfectly composed while writing it. In reality, he was on the edge of a mental breakdown. He was only keeping it together because he knew the letter had to sound confident.

Perhaps Sirius had influenced him subconsciously, he mused. When his brother had run away, he'd left behind a note. Now Regulus was leaving, albeit more…permanently…and here he was, leaving a note. He wondered if his brother had had this much trouble writing his note. Probably not.

Should he end the letter here? It would be quite short—one sentence. But he wasn't going for length; he wanted the note to be short and direct. It could work.

Still, it didn't sound like quite enough. But what to say next…well, Regulus was a Slytherin, and Slytherins were proud. He couldn't quite resist gloating, taunting the Dark Lord a little.

 ** _I have stolen the real Horcrux_**

For that was what Regulus planned to do. Well, he amended, technically Kreacher was going to be the one to actually take the locket, but it was close enough. And it _had_ to work. If it didn't, the Dark Lord could never die.

Regulus suddenly sat back in his chair, his heart beating so fast he thought it might leap right out of his chest. The full reality of his plan suddenly caught up to him.

He knew that those heartbeats were numbered. In just a few minutes' time—if he could finish writing this stupid note, that is—he would be on his way with Kreacher, to a cave, inside which was a doorway, and a boat that would cross a dark lake to a small rocky island…

In a weak attempt to calm himself, he counted his heartbeats, knowing that soon there wouldn't be any to count. _1…2…3…4…5…6…_ He made it to fifty before he attempted to continue.

 ** _and intend to destroy it as soon as I can._**

That was a lie masked by a truth. Regulus would be dead before Kreacher destroyed the locket…and that thought set him into even more of a cold sweat. Wiping his palms shakily on his robes, he took a deep breath. Kreacher would be the one to destroy the locket, and the Dark Lord could fall.

Regulus had to be brave—which had never been his strong suit, but he owed it to the Wizarding World, and to Sirius. The Dark Lord needed to be stopped, so that the Wizarding World could live in peace. He saw that now. Even if he didn't necessarily agree with his brother's views on Muggles and muggle-borns, that was a lesser evil in his opinion.

The 'Dark Lord' was a filthy hypocrite not fit to be a leader— especially not a leader of a pureblood society. He was a half-blood himself. And even if he had been pureblood, the Horcrux…that was going too far. Not even the House of Black dared to dabble in that area of Dark magic. It was disgusting.

And Sirius…Sirius deserved to have a life, a family. Granted, the older Black brother wasn't exactly the type for settling down and rearing kids, but he deserved the chance to at least not have to live in a warzone. For that, Regulus was more than willing to give his life.

At the thought of Sirius, he felt a strange burning in his chest. _Is this what love feels like?_ he wondered. _It's wonderful, but a little scary too._

The rain drummed insistently on the window.

He realized that he would die for Sirius. Oh, he was terrified of it. His heart was trying to fit in as many beats as it could before its inevitable standstill; his breath came in huge gulps; it would be cut off even sooner than his heart, after all, when he was dragged under the water by cold gray hands…

He was terrified, and he desperately wished there was another way, but he knew that there wasn't. Regulus Black would die today, drowned in cold dark water…he shuddered at the thought, but he knew there was no avoiding it. He had to succeed. The Dark Lord was truly evil; there was no place in the world for a soul that twisted and mangled.

There was probably a way that he could survive, have Kreacher Apparate him out of the cave, but he didn't _want_ to survive. He didn't have anything left to live for; he would always be a loner, an outcast to both sides. And Regulus Arcturus Black would rather die than serve a corrupted half-blood.

Then there was Sirius…the thought of his brother was almost enough to make Regulus hesitate. Almost…but Sirius would never forgive him, he'd gone too far with the Dark Lord. He was in the _inner circle_ of Death Eaters, for Merlin's sake. There was no way that Regulus' brave, blood-traitor brother would grieve his death, or even care, for that matter.

 ** _I face death in the hope that when you meet your match, you will be mortal once more._**

He was ready. No, that wasn't right. He was not ready at all, and he was terrified, but there was no avoiding it.

 ** _R.A.B_** _._

Regulus' hands were shaking so badly that he could barely open the locket, but somehow he managed. He folded up the note, fumbling and almost dropping it, and placed it in the locket.

Wandering over to the window, he stared out at the rain that dripped down in a steady, inevitable stream. This was the only thing left for him now, for whatever was left of him to die trying to redeem his past mistakes. And grievous mistakes they were. He should have left the Death Eaters much earlier, should never have joined them in the first place.

Regulus wondered what would have happened had he betrayed the family like Sirius, followed his brother while he still had the chance. Would he have found true happiness? He supposed he'd never know now.

He knew that there was no absolution, no redemption, for him; he could never hope to achieve the innocence of his early years, to redeem himself.

But this was a start.

* * *

The visions plagued him like a swarm of biting flies. But _visions_ wasn't quite right. _Visions_ implied simply sight. _Experiences_ was more accurate, for this involved more than one of the senses.

He raised the goblet to his lips and gulped down more of the acid-like potion.

—Sirius screamed as their mother shouted "Crucio!" And then Regulus was standing before a young Muggle girl with golden hair and bright blue eyes. She was sobbing, screaming as he tortured her with the Cruciatus, and he heard himself say coldly "Avada Kedavra." A flash of green light, and silence reigned and he felt good, powerful—

He downed another gobletful.

—but only for instant as he choked on the metallic smell of human blood and Bellatrix smiled in her deranged way and congratulated him on becoming the youngest Death Eater—

He gulped down more potion, desperately, wishing for it to be over.

—The Muggle girl reappeared, screaming and begging him to stop; but he only increased the torture, and then she changed into Sirius, writhing on the stones and howling in pain—

He collapsed, and Kreacher grabbed him and forced him to swallow more of the potion.

—and he raised his wand, and savage glee coursed through him and he roared "Avada Kedavra!" and there was a flash of green—

Kreacher tipped the last gobletful of potion into his mouth.

—and suddenly he was back at Grimmauld Place, and Sirius slammed the front door behind him and pressed on through the storm without looking back, and he felt nothing, only a terrible cold numbness _—_

And then gradually, with an enormous effort, he mastered the visions, forcing them to the side of his mind.

"Kreacher…" he croaked, his throat parched. Suddenly he was overwhelmed with a terrible, all-consuming thirst. He'd never been this thirsty in his life—it gripped him wretchedly as if with sharp, rough talons, closing around his throat…

He needed water…water…but first… "Th-the locket, Kreacher…Replace it—" He coughed, his throat howling in protest. The small part of his mind that wasn't consumed by pain watched his faithful house-elf quickly reach into the bowl and replace the Horcrux locket with the counterfeit.

"K-Kreacher…Go home…" He could hardly speak, but he had to finish this.

Kreacher hesitated. "But Kreacher is not leaving Master Regulus!"

"That's—that's an order! Go home—leave me—destroy it—any way you can!"

The house-elf strained against the ancient magic that bound him, but he always had to obey his master. With one last pleading look at the broken form of Regulus Black, he Disapparated with a _crack_.

Regulus dragged himself over to the edge of the water. He knew what was coming. He could see the gray hands lurking just below the water's surface. His heartbeat was growing weaker—he could feel it. It didn't matter. He was already dead.

He extended a trembling hand and submerged it in the cold water.

And then the gray hands slithered out of the water, grabbing him, dragging him down. Drawing one last, rattling breath, he surrendered to the cold grip of the Inferi, allowing them to drag him down, down into the dark water…

He exhaled, expelling all the air from his lungs. He was already dead, there was no point in fighting now.

His lungs burned. The Inferi wrapped their cold arms around him, pulling him down to the lake bottom. He didn't fight.

An instinctive panic began to overtake his mind. His vision began to blur. Drowning was painful. He tipped his head back in a vain attempt to catch one last glimpse of the water's surface.

Strange apparitions danced on the inside of his eyes; four human outlines appeared, and then they changed into animals; a big dog, a deer, a wolf, and a rat. The outline of a woman crouched over what looked like a dead body, then stood up and turned around. Masked figures shot spells here and there. A robed figure raised their wand at a woman who had spread her arms as if protecting something behind her, and a green light flashed…

His whole body might have been on fire, and his lungs filled with molten lava, but he discovered that he no longer had the energy to struggle. Somewhere in the back of his mind, he dimly registered that he'd hit the lake bottom.

Behind his eyelids, a small figure cornered a tall figure that looked vaguely familiar. The tall figure raised his wand, but the smaller figure was faster; the image exploded— and then several dead bodies appeared through the smoke, littered on the ground; the tall man was standing at the edge of a crater, the small man was gone, and a lone rodent scuttled down into a drain…

The pain was giving way to numbness. He gave in to it, knowing that there was no escape.

Death was bittersweet. At least he could take his mask off, and for once, see the person beneath it. But it was a bit late; he wished he'd done that sooner. Now, it didn't really matter.

 _Sirius,_ he thought.

And then the darkness overcame him and he knew no more.

* * *

 **Well? Was it alright? Was it awful? Tell me in a review!**

 **So...originally, this was going to be the last part of Black Blood. BUT, I feel like it's not finished. So...er...I'm going to write more. Don't expect it for a couple of weeks, though- I'm a slow writer. I won't tell you what it's going to be because I don't believe in spoilers, but there will be at least one more chapter, possibly more.**

 **A** **nyways, PLEASE leave a review. Let me know how you like it. I really want to improve my writing.**

 **Aithne**


	4. Rien Sauf Mémoires (Sirius)

**Bonjour encore! So, this was originally going to be part of the next chapter, but I decided it was better on its own. It's sort of a filler chapter and kind of short, but next chapter will be longer and better. Although I must say, I'm quite happy with how this ended up.**

 **Merci beaucoup to Bluehamster9, cinastories, Dancing-Souls, _RockyMountainNerd_ , liknu, SB- Potterhead Budgie Lover, k4p1o3p, Fangirl-Jess, and andeisawesome for reviewing, favoriting and following! Siriusly, every time I got an alert it made my day!**

 **This chapter is dedicated to Bluehamster9 for leaving the longest review and motivating me to go and write this!**

 **EDIT 11/26: I have updated this chapter because there were a few tiny things I decided I wasn't happy with. Not necessary to reread, but it has been updated slightly. Don't worry, the last chapter will be out soon.**

* * *

 _"Only the dead have seen the end of the war."_ ~George Santayana

* * *

A thunderstorm raged violently, somehow managing to drown out the sound of the waves crashing on the rocky beach. Rain thundered down in huge smashing drops. Lightning flashed, illuminating for a moment the silhouette of a formidable walled fortress standing dark and threatening on the remote craggy island.

The electric light then faded back to reveal a shadowy overcast sky. The heavy fog hung sinisterly in the air; crushing, pressing in from all sides. The entire place seemed to reek with the acrid scent of fear and insanity—and as if to prove that, a bloodcurdling scream tore out from the heart of the fortress. It was a scream of despair—of desperation, mania; the scream of one who has been driven mad by fear.

Thunder rolled through the dim gray sky, drowning out the sound of the hair-raising scream.

* * *

 _A nineteen-year-old man sat nursing his morning coffee at the small table in the flat he currently shared with his friend. The friend sat across from him, only half paying attention to his blueberry bagel as he worked on the crossword in the morning edition of the Daily Prophet._

 _Sirius watched his friend, studying the way Remus' brows furrowed as he worked on a particularly difficult word, when there came the distinct tapping of an owl at the window._

 _Seeing that Remus was currently absorbed in his crossword and hadn't even noticed the owl, Sirius reluctantly set down his coffee, heaving himself out of his chair and over to the window. What he saw there took him by surprise, as he happened to recognize this particular owl from childhood memories._

 _He opened the window, and the elegant white owl swooped in, landing gracefully on the table and startling Remus out of his CrosswordLand_ _TM_ _. The owl surveyed his surroundings with obvious distaste, turning his back on the werewolf and cocking his head imperiously at Sirius._

 _Sirius moved back over to the table; there was a slight hesitance in his step that didn't go unnoticed by Remus. Raising an eyebrow, the werewolf glanced at Sirius questioningly._

 _Sirius sighed. "Malfoy's owl," he said as way of explanation. Remus blinked in surprise, then made a face and returned to CrosswordLand_ _TM_ _._

 _Sighing again, Sirius tentatively untied the letter on the owl's leg. He highly doubted that the Death Eather Lucius Malfoy would ever write to either him or Remus, so it stood to reason that the letter was from…_ yep, Cissy, _he confirmed as he looked down at the envelope. It was formally addressed to_ Sirius Orion Black III _from_ Narcissa Malfoy née Black _, in his youngest cousin's neat handwriting._

 _Sirius paid the owl, who glared at him with undisguised disgust and swooped back out the still-open window, before returning to his seat and his coffee. He glanced at the envelope._

 _"_ _Are you going to open it?"_

 _Sirius jumped at the sound of Remus' voice. The werewolf had finally put down his crossword and was staring at him expectantly with one eyebrow raised._

 _"_ _I don't trust that anything coming from the Malfoys isn't booby-trapped," he replied after a moment._

 _He thought that this was perfectly reasonable, but Remus' other eyebrow went up and he sent Sirius his_ wow-you-really-are-an-idiot look _. It was a look that Sirius got quite a lot from him, surprisingly. "Are you a wizard," Remus said slowly, "or what?"_

Duh. _Sirius felt heat creeping up his neck as he saw the other man's mouth twitch. Quickly grabbing his wand, he cast several detection charms over the letter that sat on the table. When nothing happened, he frowned suspiciously but picked up the envelope regardless._

 _Opening it, he pulled out the parchment inside, and before reading it, exchanged a glance with Remus as if to say_ wish me luck _._

 ** _Sirius,_**

 ** _I hope that this letter finds you well. We may not be on good terms, and you know that I disagree with you on many accounts, but we are cousins (technically) and therefore family, and I believe that that is somewhat important._**

 ** _I am writing to notify you of something that we recently learned, and I knew you would want to know. Now, only Andromeda knows that I am writing to you (I am writing to her as well), and I would like it to stay that way. Not even Lucius knows. I am not allowed to have any contact with you, strictly speaking, but no one else was planning to inform you of this, even though it affects you directly. I know I'm rambling, just please don't let anyone know I wrote to you._**

 ** _I'm sorry, there is no way to soften this. Regulus is dead._**

 _Sirius was suddenly glad he was sitting down, as he definitely would have fallen over. As it was, he knocked over his coffee mug and it spilled all over his lap—but he felt nothing. He was numb with shock, all that mattered were those three words that rang through his head…Surely it wasn't true, surely Narcissa meant something else…_

Regulus is dead…Regulus is dead…Regulus is dead…

 _He was vaguely aware of Remus wiping the coffee off the table and shaking him gently, speaking in low, worried tones._

Regulus is dead…Regulus is dead…Regulus is dead…

No—it can't possibly…

 _But it had to be. Although Narcissa wasn't exactly the nicest person out there, Sirius knew that she wouldn't lie about something like this._

Regulus is dead…Regulus…dead…

 _Detachedly, he forced himself to read the rest of the letter._

 ** _I really am sorry. I know that you two were never close and probably had not spoken in years, but like I said, family is important. I know how I would feel if Andromeda died._**

 ** _We don't really know what happened. Kreacher most likely knows, but he isn't talking. No one can find the body and we only know for sure because Kreacher told Aunt Walburga. Apparently, all he would say was that he was dead, nothing more about the cause of death—although as I said, he does most likely know._**

 ** _Bella confirmed that Regulus was present at the most recent Death Eater meeting—which was four days ago—but was not sent out on any tasks, so perhaps he went and killed himself and had Kreacher Vanish his body—unlikely—or was vaporized in a tragic accident—even more unlikely. Rabastan Lestrange is saying that the Dark Lord might have killed him after he failed to fulfill his wishes, or something like that. It does make some sense; after all, the Dark Lord could easily get rid of a body._**

 ** _But that is nothing more than speculation; I just wanted to let you know. I know I;m not really the best person to be telling you this, but I knew that you would be beyond angry if no one told you, and I don't think anyone was going to. Do not write back—I am sending this secretly when Lucius leaves for the day, and I do not want him to know that I wrote to you._**

 ** _Sincerely,_**

 ** _Narcissa Malfoy_**

 _Sirius slumped down in his chair, defeated. All his fight, his denial, was gone, replaced only by a horrible absence of feeling._

Regulus is dead…Regulus is dead…

 _He watched with muted emotion as Remus pried the letter out of his hands and began reading it._

Regulus is dead…

 _Sometime later, the man silently placed a hand on his shoulder._

Regulus is dead…

 _Sirius knew that he shouldn't be upset by this. Regulus had chosen his path. Now he was dead, and the world was a better place for it…right?_

 _"_ _It's not fair, Moony!" Sirius cried out suddenly, banging his fist on the table. "He was—just a kid!" He felt his throat close up at the past tense._

 _"_ _I mean, he wasn't the greatest guy, but he didn't deserve…" Sirius gestured vaguely. "But maybe I'm biased…"_

 _Remus sighed heavily. "Life isn't fair, Padfoot."_

* * *

Inside a dark, damp prison cell inside a formidable-looking fortress on an imposing black island, a ragged man jerked awake with a gasp.

For an awful moment, his mind was blank: no idea where he was, how he got there, or even _who_ he was…and then the fragments of memory began to trickle back into his brain. _My name is Sirius Black…I am Gryffindor…I was imprisoned in Azkaban for a murder I didn't do…I am innocent._ He repeated that over and over in his head like a mantra as the rest of his jumbled memories poured back in.

His mind and memory had been dulled by the Dementors; memories were now a bit cluttered and thoughts were simpler and more sluggish than they once were, but he had enough. And he was still a lot better off than most of the prisoners here—he still knew who he was, who was friend and who was enemy, and why he was here. He still had his mind. That was much more than could be said for the other prisoners, even if he had absolutely no idea how long he'd been here and how old he was now.

 _My name is Sirius Black…I am Gryffindor…I was imprisoned in Azkaban for a murder I didn't do…I am innocent._

Now that he was somewhat awake, Sirius chastised himself for falling asleep. He always tried his hardest not to sleep, though of course there was only so much one could do. What with the Dementors forcing him to relive all his worst memories, falling asleep was an absolute nightmare. Literally. At least while awake, he could channel the creature's effects into anger at the ugly traitor. But when he fell asleep…that all changed.

Sirius shivered as the temperature dropped. One of the Dementors was patrolling a corridor nearby—Sirius could only hope that it didn't come down his hallway anytime soon, for already he could feel its agonizing effects…It always hit him harder right after a dream…a dream…

The memory of his dream—or rather, memory—suddenly crashed down upon him, and he curled into a ball, overwhelmed by anguish and grief and shame… _Regulus…_

He should have done more…should have made his brother come with him when he left or…or _something._ It wasn't fair _…_ Regulus had only been _eighteen,_ for Merlin's sake…

Why had he died, Sirius asked himself often. Why had _so many people died_ , and yet he was still alive? James and Lily, Regulus, Marlene, Benjy Fenwick, and so many others…how had he, Sirius, survived when he took more risks than all of them combined?

The Dementor moved on, and with considerable difficulty Sirius attempted to master his spiraling thoughts. Regulus had chosen his path. He'd chosen to follow Voldemort, and there was no place for him at the side of a noble Gryffindor.

Regulus was a dead Death Eater, and the world was better off without him.

Right?

* * *

 *****IMPORTANT NOTE BECAUSE I KNOW SOMEONE WILL POINT THIS OUT: The flashback was not really intended to have Wolfstar, but it worked out in such a way that it can be read as such. I'm indifferent to the ship. Anyway, you can read it as Wolfstar if you want, or not. Just saying.**

 **The next chapter will probably be posted this weekend, as I have it mostly done but need to revise it. Unless I change my plan- which is actually not that unlikely- the one after that will be the last chapter.**

 **REVIEW! Tell me what you think of the French chapter titles and my describing the weather at the start of each chapter. The weather thing just kind of happened on the spot as I was writing, and I thought it did a good job of setting the mood. Does it work? Tell me in a review! And I'll give you a special shoutout if you know what any of the chapter titles mean!**

 **Aithne**


	5. Monde Injuste (Sirius)

**Salut. This is the second-last chapter, unless I change my mind. Enjoy!**

 **Merci beaucoup to RGfI for reviewing!**

* * *

" _Do not go gentle into that good night. Rage, rage against the dying of the light."_ ~Dylan Thomas

* * *

Thirty-five year old Sirius Black was rushing anxiously through the halls of Number Twelve Grimmauld Place, formerly known as the Noble and Most Ancient House of Black.

Not because he was trying to release nervous energy, or to get some exercise; not even because he was bored. He crashed from room to room like a rolling boulder. His pace was fast, urgent, almost as if he was being chased by someone or something invisible. That was true.

Sirius was trying to get away from the memories. Every dark and dusty corner; every room, every shadow, held bad memories for him. Memories that he'd thought he'd left behind forever when he ran away at sixteen, that were now shooting back to the surface as he was forced to return to his childhood home.

Desperately, he fled from room to room, trying to find a place where he could hide; but there was none…He rushed into the ancient drawing room, almost choking on the dust clouds that rose, but found no relief as he was sucked into another memory.

 _"_ _Crucio!"_

 _Sixteen-year-old Sirius couldn't even remember what he'd done to antagonize his mother this time. And quite honestly, he didn't care. All he cared about right now was keeping quiet._

 _His flesh was burning, his bones were melting, his lungs were tightening, constricting his breath…the pain of this curse never got any better, despite the unfortunate regularity._

 _His mind was blank—he was incapable of wanting anything except death, the end, release…it was agony in its purest, freshest, most undiluted form. He hardly heard his own scream as the ringing in his ears drowned it out…_

He backed out of the room. Flying up the stairs, he flung open the door to his old bedroom, hoping that at least there, he might have some peace, but of course there was no such luck.

 _"_ _When are you going to do something?"_

 _Fifteen-year-old Sirius grunted noncommittally, looking away from James' concerned face in the two-way mirror. A black bruise covered most of his own face, and the rest of his body probably looked similar. He hadn't bothered to check._

 _"_ _Come on, Padfoot! You can't just let them do that to you! I know you worry about Regulus—don't even try to deny it—but sooner or later, you're going to have to face the fact that he's chosen his path!"_

 _Sirius looked away. "You don't have a younger sibling, Prongs…you don't get it."_

 _James sighed. "Maybe…maybe not," he said hesitantly, "but you have to know that there's a point when you have to give up on a person, and let them choose their own way."_

 _Sirius gaped in shock and anger, furious that his best friend would dare insinuate that his brother would…he couldn't even think it._ How dare he? He doesn't even know Regulus!

 _James must have seen the cold fury in his eyes, because he leaned back slightly. "Sirius, please—"_

 _But Sirius had already shut the mirror off._

That one was painful in a different way, reminding Sirius of all he had lost. _Prongs…_ He ran into the doorframe on the way out, tears of grief and anger welling up in his eyes despite himself. Desperate now, he stumbled blindly down the hall, only to trip over his own feet and land face first on the expensive green carpet.

Groaning, Sirius rose back to his feet—and came face to face with the one place he'd tried to ignore, the elegantly carved oak door that he had been relentlessly avoiding in the hour since he first arrived here. Stuck to the door was a sign marked:

 _Do Not Enter_

 _Without The Express Permission Of_

 _Regulus Arcturus Black_

Sirius froze. Before he could turn away, another memory welled up, buried so deeply for so long that he'd almost forgotten it.

 _A crash of glass breaking came from the hallway. Six-year-old Sirius instantly leapt off of his bed and out of his bedroom, into the green-carpeted hallway from which the crash had come._

 _Standing frozen and trembling next to a broken glass vase, was a boy that looked remarkably like Sirius. He was slightly younger, however; this was Sirius' brother, Regulus. Upon seeing his older brother standing in front of his ajar bedroom door, Regulus immediately backed away from the shattered vase, his eyes wide and darting around nervously. "I—I'm so sorry!—I didn't mean to—"_

 _Sirius cut him off with a relieved laugh. "It's just a stupid vase, Reggie." He crossed the few feet of carpet that separated him from his brother. Regulus stepped back instinctively, making Sirius stare at him incredulously. "Do you really think I'm going to tell Mother?"_

 _While Regulus stuttered, Sirius awkwardly crouched down and gathered the glass fragments into his own robe pockets. Regulus stared at him in surprise and confusion. "What're you doing, Siri?" he asked, finally finding his voice._

 _Sirius smirked. Stuffing the last piece of glass into a pocket, he straightened up. "Helping you out," he said. "Go back in your room. I'll hide the pieces. Mother'll think it was me."_

 _Regulus gaped. "Er…thank you, Siri!" He jumped forward and hugged his older brother tightly. "You're the best brother ever! You're my favorite brother, did you know that?"_

 _Sirius reciprocated the hug. "I'm your only brother, Reggie," he laughed._

 _"_ _I know, that's why you're my favorite!"_

With a gasp, Sirius pulled himself out of the memory. He shook his head. _Get a bloody grip, Sirius,_ he growled at himself. _You're going to have to stay here for a while, so get a bloody hold of yourself!_

* * *

Sirius sat at the dining table of Number Twelve Grimmauld Place, along with Molly and Arthur Weasley. Molly and Arthur had come over for lunch to keep Sirius company, since their children were away at Hogwarts, and it was a Sunday so Arthur was off work.

While Sirius appreciated the sentiment, their effort just wasn't helping. It was painfully obvious—to anyone that cared to observe, that is—that neither Molly nor Arthur really wanted to be there, and had only come out of a sense of obligation. Although they would vehemently deny it if asked, they would obviously much rather be doing something else.

Sirius couldn't blame them. He felt exactly the same way.

 _As would any sane person,_ he thought.

"It's a beautiful day today," Molly commented in an effort to break the awkward silence that had fallen over the table.

 _Well, thank you for informing me._

Sirius made an irritable noise in the back of his throat, his long dark hair hanging in his face. Part of him knew he was being rude, but he wasn't in the mood to hear about how great it was outside. Currently, he wasn't even allowed to step foot outside his oppressive ancestral home. Believe it or not, he was not thrilled with that plan.

He would very much liked to have voiced some of the angry thoughts in his head, but he refrained and settled for grumbling "Guess I'll take your word for it."

Arthur seemed to realize that his wife's remark had been tactless, and he attempted to cover it up. "Well, for this part of the country, at least. It's never really—"

Sirius cut him off. "Save it," he said shortly, a bitter expression on his face. "I'm sure the weather's _fantastic_." He tried not to spit the last word, but he was pretty sure he failed.

Awkward silence once again descended upon the table.

* * *

Sirius was fighting with everything he had. Locked in combat with a Death Eater he didn't recognize, his wand was moving almost to fast to see. His opponent's wand was moving equally fast; they were matched more or less evenly, but Sirius was slowly gaining ground.

He might have been in mortal peril, but he felt better than he had in ages. Actually, it was _because_ he was in mortal peril that he felt like this. This was what Sirius was made for- the thrill of battle, the feeling of euphoric power as he dueled.

The last year had been absolute hell; it wasn't in his nature to sit back and let others fight. He hated having to do nothing. _Yes_ , he knew it was dangerous for him to be outside, he _knew_ he could get sent back to Azkaban; he _knew_ all that, for Merlin's sake, but he _lived_ for this! Risking his life came absolutely naturally to him. He loved it.

And now, _finally,_ he had a chance to duel— _really_ duel, for the first time in—well, fourteen years. He was ecstatic, although there was a voice in the back of his mind telling him that he shouldn't be. It sounded suspiciously like Remus. Ah, whatever.

The blood roared in his ears and adrenaline coursed through his body as he blocked and shot spells at the masked Death Eater. It had been far too long since he'd felt that. He was in his element now, this was what he was made for.

With one final Stunning spell, his opponent fell to the floor and he felt a rush of exhilaration. Bounding over the fallen Death Eater, he Stunned one of Kingsley's two opponents from behind and was about to Stun the other, when he out of the corner of his eye he saw a man he recognized as Antonin Dolohov facing off with Harry, who was standing over a twitching Neville Longbottom.

Changing direction abruptly, Sirius lunged towards his godson and rammed Dolohov with his shoulder, knocking him off balance. He had no time to see if Harry was alright, for Dolohov had now turned his attention to him and he had to focus entirely on dueling his new adversary.

Dolohov was quite a powerful wizard, as painful as that was for Sirius to admit. The Death Eater drew his wand back, probably to make his signature slashing spell—Sirius raised his wand to block it, but he knew he wouldn't be fast enough—then suddenly Dolohov's arms and legs snapped together and he toppled backwards, revealing Harry, who had his wand raised, having just cast a Full-Body Bind charm.

Smirking inwardly, Sirius leapt toward his godson. "Nice one!" he shouted, and pushed Harry's head down to avoid a pair of Stunning spells. "Now I want you to get out of—"

He was forced to stop as he ducked to avoid a green spell by inches. Across the chamber, Tonks fell. The young Auror tumbled down the stone steps from where she'd been dueling… _Bellatrix,_ Sirius realized as he spotted the wild-haired woman grinning triumphantly and running back into the fray.

Feeling a surge of animalistic rage against his least favorite cousin, Sirius charged to meet her, yelling over his shoulder at Harry to grab Neville and the prophecy and run.

He didn't have time to see whether or not Harry listened, because then he was dueling Bellatrix and he was filled with a hatred that he dimly recognized as the infamous Black madness, but he didn't care.

Sirius threw himself at Bellatrix with everything he had. She sprang to meet him, the cruel smile disappearing from her face when she saw his fury. Instinct and an uncontrolled rage took over his mind, and Sirius felt unstoppable. The world narrowed down to him, Bellatrix, and the short distance between them. Nothing else mattered…nothing else was important.

So absorbed was he in the fight, that he didn't notice anything else that was happening. He laughed slightly maniacally at his cousin as he ducked a Stunning spell she fired at him. Had he been able to hear himself, he would have probably thought himself rather _non compos mentis_.

 _A Stunning spell? Really, Bella?_ Sirius was actually rather shocked that she still remembered how to cast such a benign spell. "Come on, you can do better than that!" he shouted tauntingly at her, still laughing.

He just had time to notice how his voice echoed alarmingly around the room, when Bellatrix's second Stunning spell hit him squarely on the chest.

In the millisecond before he fell, Sirius silently cursed himself for letting his guard down. As he and his deranged cousin had been dueling, they had worked their way onto the dais, and his back was towards the stone archway…

He realized what was going to happen an instant before it did, and he laughed, because it _was_ sort of funny, in a twisted way. That after all the near-death experiences that Sirius Black had survived, and all the extremely dangerous stunts he'd pulled, that he would be defeated by a fluttering curtain and a Stunning spell.

And then Sirius caught sight of Harry's frantic face, as his godson reached out towards him, wand in hand, and the gravity of the situation caught up with him…He wasn't ready, Voldemort had only just returned, he had to _fight_ , this was a ridiculous way to die…

But Sirius wasn't given a choice, as his body sank backwards and he felt a cold weight wrap around him that he knew was the Veil, and heard the whispers; and he dimly registered Bellatrix's scream of glee and Harry's desperate voice crying his name, but there was nothing he could do—

And he heard the whispering voices of the dead. Most of them were indistinct chatters, but among them he heard two very familiar voices, calling him by two different names.

" _Padfoot…"_ said one.

 _"_ _Siri…"_ whispered the other.

Then Bellatrix's gleeful face and Harry's distressed one faded to blankness, and the whispers grew to an overwhelming crescendo in his brain—

And then he was falling.

* * *

 **REVIEW! Tell me what you thought. Oh, and brownie points if you know what movie this chapter's quote was featured in. (It's one of the best movies I've ever seen.) The next chapter may be a couple more weeks, as I haven't started writing it yet and I am a slow writer.**

 **Aithne**


	6. Chance Manquée (Epilogue)

**This is the last chapter. There is a very long AN at the end. Hope you enjoy.**

* * *

 _"_ _Don't send me flowers when I'm dead. If you like me, send them while I'm alive." ~Brian Clough_

* * *

Silence. That was the first thing Regulus knew. Not a loud or uncomfortable silence, but rather an empty, dull sort of silence. Yes, he thought, _empty_ was the right word. Emptiness, and silence. Those were the only two things that existed in…wherever this was. _Is it really a where? Or a what? Perhaps a when? Maybe it doesn't matter._

Soon enough, Regulus realized that he was lying on a hard, unforgiving surface. _This must be life after death…but I wanted to die…for it to just be over…_ Opening his eyes, he saw… _the Great Hall?_ Getting to his feet, he pulled a set of emerald and black robes over his head—had those been there before? Regulus decided that he didn't care.

The former Death Eater stood up and looked around. It definitely resembled the Great Hall—there were four house tables, and a higher table at the end of the hall. But everything was empty and dull, there was no color, only an awful gray absence thereof. He sensed that it should not be this way, that there should be something more…there should be _something_.

Suddenly there was a faint whispering noise, and Regulus blinked in shock as a young woman appeared out of nowhere. She had wavy brown hair and a short build, and she was naked. Before he could avert his eyes, however, she rolled to her feet and pulled on…some sort of Muggle dress?

 _Oh…_ Suddenly Regulus realized. The woman was a Muggle, and she had just died, and come to…this odd pseudo-Great Hall. But watching the woman, an odd feeling swept over him. There was something about the way she was surveying the space…her eyes just passed over it as if seeing something else, and then her gaze slid past Regulus and she didn't appear to notice him—in fact she never looked at him at all… _she was seeing something different, she was in a different place._ The thought gave Regulus chills.

 _But if she can't see me, then why can I see her?_

Abruptly the woman turned around. Regulus turned too, following her surprised gaze—and started in surprise as he saw a wiry, sprightly-looking old man that looked like he was related to the woman, walking towards her.

Regulus watched from a distance as the two Muggles embraced in an unmistakably loving way. Then they began speaking, but their voices were muffled and distant to Regulus, as if they were separated from him by a glass wall rather than a few yards of empty space. He caught a few fragments, however.

 _"Good…dead?…"_

 _"Seems…"_

 _"…here?…of all…"_

"… _important place_ … _come…"_

 _"Where?…"_

 _"On…"_

Then the man took the woman's hand in his own, and the two Muggles faded into nothingness.

For a while, Regulus stood there, pondering. _An important place…_ Regulus glanced around, at the blank replica of the Great Hall.

 _"Black, Regulus!" Professor McGonagall's crisp voice rang sharply through_ _the air._

 _Said boy, a dark-haired eleven-year-old whose practiced cool, blank expression sat on an aristocratic face, stepped forward to the wooden stool._

 _To a stranger, Regulus appeared perfectly confident and even slightly smug. Only someone who knew him well would have recognized his apprehension._

 _For inside, Regulus was terrified. He remembered all too well the year before, when his cousin Narcissa had sent a letter informing them that his older brother, Sirius, had been Sorted into Gryffindor…Regulus would never forget the rage his parents had gone into. Mother had downright screeched like a banshee when she first read the letter, unable to put her fury into words. Father's anger, on the other hand, was even more terrifying to the ten-year-old Regulus. Orion Black never shouted, ever. He had been completely silent, and Regulus had felt the cold anger and disappointment radiating off of him in waves._

 _After his initial fury had worn off, Father had firmly grabbed Regulus by the arm, led him into his study, and told him in a flat voice that as Sirius had betrayed them all, that he, Regulus, would now have to 'try extra hard.'_

 _He hadn't said it directly, but the message was clear—if he dared to follow Sirius into Gryffindor when he went to Hogwarts the following year…Regulus quickly cut off that thought._

 _And it was for that reason, that the eleven-year-old was now more terrified then he'd ever been. Logically, he knew that there was no other place he could go than Slytherin—he had always been the perfect Black, and there was no way he was brave enough for Gryffindor. Sirius was the brave one._

 _But all the logic in the world couldn't quiet the niggling voice in the back of his head that whispered_ Sirius is a Black, too.

 _So as Regulus neared the old wooden stool, towards the hat that would decide his fate, he found himself repeating_ Slytherin _over and over in his head like a mantra and feeling as if he was walking to his death. He knew, without even looking, that the entire Slytherin table was watching him carefully, waiting to see if the youngest Black would follow his blood-traitor brother, or join the snakes like a true Black._

 _And he felt, more than saw, a pair of very familiar gray eyes boring into him from the direction of the Gryffindor table. Pushing down the strange feeling in his chest, he forced himself not to glance over at Sirius._

 _As Regulus reached the stool and sat, he felt sure that the Gryffindor boy watching him silently was the only one who noticed that he was shaking slightly. And just before the brim of the Sorting Hat fell down over his eyes, his resolve to not look crumbled and his eyes flickered over to the Gryffindor table, meeting Sirius' gaze for a single fraction of a second before the brim of the Hat obscured his vision._ Slytherin, _he thought hurriedly,_ Slytherin, it has to be Slytherin…

Slytherin, eh? _murmured the Hat in Regulus' ear._ Well, you are a Black…but let me see…

I have to go to Slytherin! _Regulus panicked._ They'll kill me!

Calm down, calm down. _The Hat sounded slightly startled._ I didn't say I wouldn't put you in Slytherin, I just want to be sure. Now, hear me out. Hufflepuff is out right away. Gryffindor, though…I wonder.

No! I can't go to Gryffindor! I—

 _The Hat cut him off in an annoyed tone._ Don't interrupt me. You're braver than you think, and you might do well there…But you're not like your brother. You have a different kind of bravery, a quieter kind, even if you haven't realized it yet…In the end, though, I don't think Gryffindor is the house for you.

 _Regulus was far too relieved to wonder what the Hat meant._

So that leaves Ravenclaw and Slytherin.

Slytherin, _he was almost pleading now…almost. Blacks didn't plead._

Slytherin, Slytherin…

Be patient! _snapped the Hat._

 _It hemmed and hawed for a moment before speaking again in a thoughtful voice._ Now, don't interrupt me. You would do very well in either, and fear is a terrible reason to choose a House. So I'm offering you a choice, and don't just immediately choose Slytherin. If that really is your decision, I will respect that, but please, think about it very carefully.

 _Regulus forced himself to consider the Hat's words, but he knew that he was too much of a coward to choose anything but Slytherin._

Slytherin, _he told the hat._ I choose Slytherin.

 _The hat sighed, and there was a note of disappointment in its voice when it murmured_ Well, if you really wish…SLYTHERIN! _It shouted the last word for the whole hall to hear._

Regulus blinked, bringing himself out of the memory. What would have happened, had he chosen differently that day?

No one would ever know…but one thing was for sure, he wouldn't have ended up here, wouldn't have ended up discovering the Dark Lord's secret and dying at the young age of eighteen…and then the Horcrux would still be out there, so perhaps it was a good thing in the end. He might have felt nauseous at the thought, had there been anything in his deceased stomach, but there wasn't, and so he could only hope a painful, wretched hope that Kreacher would manage to destroy the locket.

Suddenly the rustling whisper came again, and he turned around to watch a similar scene unfold, this time between a geriatric old woman and a ten-year-old boy that took her hand, and led her…On.

And it was then that Regulus understood.

When someone died, someone else, someone that the newly deceased had cared for, someone who was already dead, should come to fetch them. Then that person would greet the newly-dead, and lead them On, wherever, whatever, or whenever that was.

But there was no one for him. No one was coming to take him, for there was no one that was both dead and that Regulus had ever _truly_ cared for. He knew this beyond a shadow of a doubt.

The revelation was disheartening, but not particularly surprising. He'd always been alone, after all…ever since he took the coward's way out in the Great Hall eight years ago.

There had only ever been one person who he might... He really had cared for Sirius in a way that he'd never cared for anyone else. And maybe, just maybe…Regulus thought that Sirius might have cared for him, too…once. Did he still? _Of course not,_ the young man thought, and the thought brought with it a burning stab of pain and shame.

There was no point in trying to pretend that he hated his brother—he couldn't. He'd given it a good deal of effort during his lifetime, but there was really no point now…there was no one left to impress.

The brothers may never have been really close, even in their younger years, but life had been so simple back then. There had been no Houses…nothing that could have torn them apart irreparably. They were still innocent. _What if I hadn't been such a coward? What if I had chosen differently? What if I had seen what Sirius saw…what he still sees?_

Closing his eyes, Regulus sighed and tried not to dwell on the what-ifs and on the fact that his brother hated him. For Regulus would have been shocked if Sirius didn't, but Regulus still cared for Sirius, and the knowledge that it was not mutual was almost unbearable. _Is this love?_

But besides, Sirius was still alive, and hopefully would be for the foreseeable future, so he wouldn't come for Regulus whether he wanted to or not.

He sensed that he could simply walk through the doors at the end of the hall and go On, but it didn't feel quite right, to go alone.

 _No,_ Regulus thought. There was something in him that wanted to see his brother one last time. Even though Sirius wouldn't be able see him, or even want to; would be greeted by another, in a different place, and go On. But Regulus just wanted to see him again. He wanted…closure, he supposed.

He'd never gotten the chance to say goodbye.

 _I'll wait_. _I'll wait for him. I have nothing left to lose._

And so Regulus sat down at what would have been the Ravenclaw table, and waited. He waited for so long, he lost track of how long it was. He saw millions upon millions of Muggles and wizards alike as they died, were greeted, and went On.

But Regulus Black waited, alone, unsure of what exactly he was waiting for.

As he sat at the colorless replica of the Ravenclaw table, he couldn't help but wonder what his life would have been like had he chosen differently, had this been the table that he sat at, ate his meals at, conversed with housemates at for those seven years. It felt odd, to see the Hall from this angle, having only ever seen it looking out from the Slytherin table.

Time passed.

He would wait.

* * *

Sirius was falling, falling through the whispering mist…

And then, abruptly, he stopped. There was no impact—he just…stopped, and realized he was lying on a flat surface.

Leaping to his feet, Sirius spun around, wondering what this was, and realized that he was standing in…the Great Hall? It certainly resembled it, but this version was much cleaner…and empty. He'd rarely seen the Great Hall empty, and on the occasions when he had, it was always slightly disconcerting. And it was silent, too…it was a strange sort of silence; it felt…empty, blank, almost like dreamless sleep.

 _So there is an afterlife._

He felt like punching something. Of all the ways to die—This was absolutely pathetic. Bellatrix hadn't even had the decency to hit him with a Killing Curse before he fell; he'd been defeated by a Stunner and an inconveniently placed magic curtain. He hadn't even been able to bring his deranged cousin down with him.

And Harry…Sirius remembered the horrified look on his godson's face as he had fallen through the Veil. He wasn't sure exactly what he was to the boy, but as for him, Harry had been his lifeline; his last link to his life before Azkaban…to James and everything else that had been good in his life.

 _Well, what now?_ he thought.

"Oi, Padfoot."

Sirius froze. That voice…he had thought he'd never hear it again. An image popped into his mind unbidden; James Potter sprawled on the stairwell of the ruined house in Godric's Hollow, lying unnaturally still, his glasses cracked, with a vaguely shocked expression on his still-warm face. It was the image that had haunted him for the past fourteen years.

 _You know, I'm dead now…so could it really be…?_

 _But_ _what if he's not really there? Or what if he hates me? He'd be right to, it was my fault, entirely my own damn fault…but I don't want to have a brother hate me. Not again._ Sirius found himself unable to move, consumed by fear and shame. He'd failed miserably at protecting James, at the time when he so easily could have just taken on the job of Secret-Keeper rather than trying to be clever…He'd failed miserably at keeping Regulus alive and un-Dark Marked— _no._ He cut himself off roughly. _Regulus is not my brother, not anymore. He chose his path, I chose mine, and that's that._ _Right?_

"Padfoot. Hello, Padfoot. _SIRIUS._ Paging Mr. Padfoot. Do I need to use your middle name?" The painfully familiar voice cut through Sirius' gloomy thoughts. And suddenly a little voice in the back of his head retorted _Are you a Gryffindor or not?_

So Sirius closed his eyes for a brief moment, summoned all of his Gryffindor courage, and turned around.

And there he was: James Potter, in all his bespectacled messy-haired glory. He hadn't changed a bit since the day he died, and when Sirius looked at him his face immediately split into a wide grin.

Sirius looked down, refusing to meet James' hazel gaze. His voice cracked as he spoke. "James, I—" His voice cracked.

James gently but firmly placed a hand over Sirius' mouth, effectively cutting him off. "Look, I know what you're thinking. I don't blame you. I'd feel the same way if our roles were reversed. But none of us suspected Peter. He was good at going unnoticed, just like you said. No one knew…My point is, I don't blame you in the slightest." He sighed. "But if it makes you feel any better, then here you go: I officially forgive you for whatever the bloody hell you think you did wrong." It sounded like James had been planning this little speech.

Slowly, Sirius looked up into the hazel eyes that had haunted his dreams for the last fourteen years. And for the first time, he allowed himself to hope.

James grinned and gestured at the big oak doors. "After you, my dear Padfoot."

He didn't hesitate.

* * *

Unbeknownst to either, an eighteen-year-old boy with pale grey eyes watched them leave, his heart heavy. But he'd gotten his closure.

And so finally, he stood from the table and followed them through the doors.

* * *

 _In the dusty basement of an old, gloomy house on Grimmauld Place, a green locket hissed and twitched, and an old house-elf screamed, knowing he could never fulfill his old master's dying wish…_

* * *

 **And we are done. I can't believe it...** **I've never actually seen through something this big before.**

 **I AM SO SORRY! *dodges a pair of Uncle Vernon's socks* I meant to post this chapter months ago, I promise, but life has been hectic, what with starting high school and everything that comes with that. :/ But really, I owe you all a serious apology. When I started this story, my plan was to not publish it until it was mostly complete, and then publish it all at once so no one would have to wait, because I know the pain of waiting for a story to update... however, my idea grew, and then I got writer's block on this chapter. I am so, so sorry.**

 **Think of this update as a Christmas present.**

 **Now that that's out of the way...this is my first ever completed multi-chapter story. I feel proud of actually finishing something for** **once. And everyone has been so supportive, I can't even, I really didn't think that this story would ever be read, much less enjoyed by anyone, but all of the reviews I've gotten have been so positive and this sentence is becoming a run-on so I'm going to end it now.**

 **But seriously, thank you all. Especially** **to** **Kikkiyoshi-Star** **,** **latinagirl-reader2010 , ****MarauderBeMe , ****PhoenixLordess , ****Strangeduck23 , ****Peb97 , ****derpywriterlovessupernatural , ****AnonymousBooklover55 , ****Thewriterisme93 , ****margarawr , ****WriterGirl7673 , ****Basileum , ****Phoenix172 , and ****FairyRave** **for reviewing, favoriting, and following on the last chapter!**

 **This chapter is dedicated to John Williams, Patrick Doyle, Nicholas Hooper, and Alexandre Desplat for creating the music that got me through my writers block on this chapter.**

 **And I have to say it again: THANK YOU, TO EVERYONE THAT READ, REVIEWED, FAVORITED, AND FOLLOWED THIS STORY! YES, YOU!**

 **I'm actually getting emotional right now...it's over. It's really over. This story has been an incredible journey for me. I can't even put it into words. And it's over. Just in time for Christmas. If you celebrate Christmas.** **I'm rambling now, so I'm just going to stop. Au revoir.**

 **Au revoir literally means 'until next time' or 'until we meet again.' Just something to think about.**

 **Happy holidays.**

 **Aithne out.**


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